At night, my dreams of asleep beckon; dreams where I can fly, dreams where I can run without getting out of breath, where I can ride a bike without falling off. Dreams where I am never old. Dreams where, sometimes, people I love but who long since breathed their last breath, visit. In my asleep dreams, I encounter characters who ask me to write them. Some, I have. Some are waiting their turn. To reach my dreams of asleep, no mountains have to be climbed, no streams forded, no rainbows flown over. I just close my eyes and drift there. And, if fear hammers at my heart, I open my eyes and defeat the dream-crashing terrors.
When I’m not asleep, my dreams of awake beckon; dreams where life never hurts the people I love, where the people I’ve lost never left. Dreams where I walk by the sea whenever I want. In my awake dreams, I’m not tired. I write. To reach my dreams of awake, no blood has to be poured, no sweat broken, no tears shed. To reach my awake dreams, I just let myself drift. I don’t even have to close my eyes. All I have to do is imagine.
My dreams of asleep and awake are always there. They live with me in the world where I live. The world where I choose to bring the best of my dreams to life. The world where, to defeat the fear I sometimes feel, I have to wipe away my tears and look terror in the eye. The world where, sometimes, I watch the people I love walk painful paths I cannot walk for them. The world where, each time I fall, instead of staying fallen, I get up and try again. The world where there are days I can stay in the world of asleep until I am no longer tired and then take a walk by the sea with someone I love who never left. And on the very best days in the world where I live, I write. I write loves and losses, hopes and wishes. I write flights and fallings, pain and healing. I achieve with my eyes open as I take hold of the dreams I choose.
“Whenever you want to achieve something, keep your eyes open, concentrate and make sure you know exactly what it is you want. No one can hit their target with their eyes closed.” Paulo Coehlo- The Devil and Miss Prym